


His Bed Is Made

by SinOfPride



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinOfPride/pseuds/SinOfPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't understand any of this," was the first thing Dean said when he realized he was no longer alone in the room. Set in S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Bed Is Made

Sam was gone again. 

He hadn't taken the car this time, but Dean had seen him get in one driven by a woman. Ruby, of course. He'd wanted to follow, but the thought of what he'd see this time terrified him almost as much as it crushed him. Because Sam would come back with breakfast sometime near dawn, ready with a bad lie about insomnia, and Dean would nod and swallow down bile when he spotted blood somewhere in Sam's discarded clothing.

Of course, Sam had said he was through with this. He'd said it was his choice to turn his back on everything to do with Ruby and his powers, and Dean had wanted to believe him. Almost had. But this was the third time this week he left as soon as Dean closed his eyes.

Another day in Winchester land. 

"I don't understand any of this," Was the first thing Dean said when he realized he was no longer alone in the room. The shadow by the window turned slowly, piercing blue eyes staring at him evenly, as if they were resuming a previous conversation. They were, in a way. 

"This is not about your grasp on the situation," Castiel enunciated simply, a faint frown clouding over his stolen features. "There is a war in our hands, a war that needs you on the fighting front. You believe in what I represent, Dean, in our fight. Why can't that be enough to make your path easier?" 

"Right," Dean scoffed to himself, glancing at the late night TV droning in and out of static bursts. He turned it off and eyed the angel that was staring back at him, trying not to feel intimidated by the scrutiny. "Let's say I do. I believe in you and yours, angel warriors from heaven come to smite the freaking devil. I'm still not seeing where your little night visits are getting us anywhere, honored as I am by them." 

"Why didn't you follow your brother tonight, Dean? Have your forgotten what we talked about?" Castiel asked, ignoring the offhanded demand and giving Dean his full attention. 

Dean shifted his legs off the bed, feeling oddly off-balance by the reprimand in Castiel voice. It felt like a flashback to conversations with John that Dean would rather not remember. 

"There's a bigger picture you have to remember. You are an asset in the fight, but we need you to stay focused-"

"What are you talking about?" Dean interrupted, unease crawling up his back when Castiel's impassive expression shifted subtly to frustration. "We've been focused. We've been trying to track more demon activity, more hunts, anything that tells us where Lilith is striking next. Meanwhile, I don't see you here bringing us God's message or tipping us off on his mysterious ways, yeah? If we're chasing our tails here, then it's not our doing." 

"I am not talking about your focus on the hunt." Castiel bit off, moving slowly closer. 

Dean stood from the bed, trying to be on even footing with the _vessel_ Castiel was possessing. Everything about the guy- angel, whatever- set off warning bells in Dean's head, gave him the feeling of standing too close to a predator. The power locked inside the man was a tangible thing, strong and undeniable, and Dean was beyond deluding himself on his own ability to intimidate through physical presence. Damned if he'd show that to the arrogant prick, though. 

"Lilith has not made her presence known again. We are aware of it." Castiel continued, his gaze inscrutable as ever when he stood in front of Dean. "I am talking about your focus regarding Samuel, Dean. You remain willfully blind to his errors and that cannot continue. You are far too involved in your brother's wrong-doings and his crooked steps can yet lead you astray."

"Okay, hold your horses!" Dean barked out, moving away before Castiel could cage him between his body and the motel bed. The guy had no sense of personal space. "Of course I'm worried about my brother. But I can't very well confront him until I know how to stop what's he's doing, can I? I tried talking to him for all the good it did."

"How do you propose to do better if you refuse to follow him and see what he's doing for yourself?" Came the rebuke and Dean couldn't hold the hard gaze for long. He felt cold and shaky and backed into a corner, so he did what came naturally every time he felt that way. He attacked.

"Well, fuck that!" Dean snapped, moving to point a finger in Castiel face despite the rush of fear he felt every time he tried to intimidate someone that had warned him -threatened, really- about throwing him back into hell. "This whole thing is not exactly a picnic for me either, Mr. High and Mighty. Meanwhile, I don't see you being a whole bucket of help. Sam _believes_ in you, why can't you intervene directly, huh? Because it's none of your business! You told _me_ to stop him, so don't butt in where you're not needed, pal. Sam is my responsibility."

"Ah, but he isn't," Castiel corrected him evenly, and Dean felt his guard go up like a wall. Before he could squeeze a word past his rage at the _nerve_ , Castiel raised a hand in his direction and shook his head. "Free will, Dean. Samuel's path is his own, his choices are his own burden. For him, you have given everything in your power- and beyond- there is to give. God has seen it. Your intention is pure, as is your devotion, but noble as it is, you know where his choices are leading him. My instructions to stop him are not open for debate."

"Don't you dare," Dean barked out, moving in on Castiel before he could process the thought, looking down into those unnatural eyes that stared back. Castiel had the power to terrify him, Dean couldn't deny it, but _nothing_ got in the way of Dean's love for his brother. "Sam hasn't done anything that can't be undone yet. He's still my brother. He's being ridiculously stupid but I was in _hell_ and he had to watch me being torn apart. Of course he's gonna be a little screwed in the head for a while, but he'll get it together! He will! Don't you condemn him before he's done wrong." 

"Sin lies in deliberately choosing the wrong way." Castiel told him, not-unkindly, momentarily derailing Dean's rising anger with a tilt of his head and a look Dean could almost call sympathetic. It stung like salt in an open wound. Dean gritted his teeth, sneering mockingly at the all consuming belief behind the words. "Sin is choosing to defy God either by thought, word, deed, or omission. It's choosing to do what you know is wrong."

"I don't need a preacher." Dean bit out, sick to his stomach at the patient look Castiel levered on him, like Dean was a child that just needed proper instruction. Like Dean didn't get it, but he _did_. He did and he didn't want to hear it said out loud. "We're all sinners, me more than most. Don't stand there and expect me to judge my little brother for something I would have done in his place."

"If that were true, your soul would have remained in the pits of hell." Castiel told him seriously, talking about condemning him to eternal damnation like he was commenting on what Dean could have for lunch. "I know this is painful, Dean. But the fact remains that you know your brother has been deceiving you all this time. You know he consorts with demons. You know he has deliberately chosen to exploit and develop a taint to his soul beyond his understanding. As well as you know that your death was only the catalyst, not the cause, to a downfall long in the making."

"You shut up!" Dean snarled, acting on impulse and hauling Castiel roughly into the wall by the lapels of his stupid trench coat. He felt the warmth of the human body Castiel inhabited pressed against his, but there was nothing human beyond the surface. Nothing Dean could grasp with his hands. "Stop talking about him like he's beyond hope!"

"I have not said that," Castiel answered calmly, like Dean wasn't bristling inches away from his face, close to tears of sheer _terror_ and frustration. Calm, like none of this mattered in the grand scheme of things. "Dean, you can't keep abiding his lies. You can't keep ignoring what is going on, no matter how much you want to. We don't have the time." 

"And what the hell am I supposed to do?" Dean breathed out, anger choking the words and making them gravely. He shook Castiel hard when there was no answer and the angel stared at him with a patient kind of indulgence that just fuelled Dean's fury. "What does your God suggest I do? How about I go ahead and kill the brother I went to _hell_ for? How about I murder the one person I wasn't willing to live without?" 

"How about you stand in his way instead?" Castiel interrupted, voice losing some of its calm in the face of Dean's crumbling control. He looked almost sorry, if Dean was inclined to see it. "Face up to him, Dean. God will only ask of you that which you can bear to give. We are here if you fail, but we are also here to urge you to _try_. This is about giving both of you a choice." 

"What if I can't do it?" Dean asked in a thin voice he wasn't sure was his. He was losing his grasp on his fury and the tremors that shook his hands were passed onto Castiel where they were pressed close. "What if I don't want to know what Sam's choice is? What if I don't want to risk it?"

"You can step aside." Castiel answered simply, voice certain. It tore something loose in Dean's chest and he heaved in air, unsure exactly when he'd lowered his head but aware he was practically leaning against Castiel now, aware he was hiding in his shoulder like a child, but unable to straighten up in the face of his task. 

"Is that my destiny? To just keep losing everything?" Dean asked softly, voice a thread of bitterness that welled up in his throat. He startled when a hand landed on his hair, gentle despite the situation and _needed_ in a way Dean wasn't quite ready to acknowledge. He made a sound then, a broken hitch of breath he was immediately ashamed of and tried to move away. Castiel didn't let him, a hand on his neck holding him steady while the one in his head touched him with a gruff sort of comfort that made Dean's chest ache. 

"No, that's not it." Castiel murmured in his ear, voice even as always but laced with something gentler, something Dean hadn't yet allowed him to show. It sounded like understanding and absolution. It sounded better than Dean deserved to hear. "Your destiny is to be loved well, by both God and men, for you are worthy, Dean. God's will is not a punishment. God's love is not conditional. You only have to be the best you can be, you don't have to work to deserve it."

Not like with Sam, Dean thought and squeezed his eyes shut against the burning in them and against the words. He breathed harshly and pushed at Castiel, but the angel only let him get far enough to lock his eyes on Dean's face, on Dean's eyes. 

"You already have it." Castiel continued, ruthless in his conviction. "Your task is massive and your road is hard and that is why I'm here. To help you. To lead you. Because God loves you and he won't leave you to do this alone. But I need you to listen. I need you to trust and to _fight_."

"Let me go," Dean muttered, furious at himself for the choked sound of his voice for the tears he knew were shining in his eyes. 

Castiel didn't heed him and it almost felt like his hands wanted to burn new brands onto Dean's skin, like they sought to keep him close in a bid to make him understand. Dean struggled to no avail, feeling oddly small despite the host's frame being shorter than him. Feeling trapped and lost and so angry he couldn't even- he didn't even _get_ it and it wasn't fucking _fair_. 

"Fuck, just let me go! I'm tired, okay?! I'm fucking exhausted and you're asking me to stop the apocalypse like it's nothing! You're asking me to confront the only one I've let myself love unconditionally like he's evil. And he's NOT. Sam's NOT! I _raised_ him, he's the only thing I've ever done right-!" 

The kiss that cut him off was entirely unexpected and it froze Dean's words in his throat. 

Castiel's hand on his neck pushed him forward into it, Castiel's dry lips parting to prod his and Dean couldn't even breathe. The man the angel was possessing wasn't even _willing_ and Jesus, Dean wasn't going to do this to some poor bastard, but Castiel wasn't giving him a choice, tongue breaching Dean's lips open with force and a hand moving to frame his face and hold him still. 

It was oddly out of synch, like the angel was learning how to kiss as he went, and Dean was torn between the need to cling and respond to the only source of comfort available- comfort he could understand- and the disgusted voice that told him he'd be _raping_ someone else if he let himself enjoy it. 

In the end, he did nothing. He let it happen, feeling Castiel breathe into his mouth and hum something that almost sounded like words, tongue warm against his and gentle, soft in a way it shouldn't be in this context. It was _warm_ in a way Dean didn't want to analyze, filling him with a sense of calm, thoughts becoming muddled in its wake. 

When it was over and Dean was finally free to breathe, Castiel was pressed close against him, arms still encircling Dean. The closeness didn't feel suffocating or even wrong. Dean's hands clung to Castiel's clothing helplessly, at loss as to how to react to what had just happened. Castiel solved it by guiding him to lean forward and Dean let it happen, let himself bury his face in the throat being offered to him, let himself hide just for a while. 

"What the hell was that?" He mumbled into the skin against his lips, which both tasted and smelled clean and normal, _human_. His cheek felt wet when he rested it on Castiel's shoulder and his entire body was shaking, overwhelmed by the feeling of _belonging_ suddenly flowing through him. 

It was terrifying.

"I know you're tired," He heard, in his ear. "But you have a road to follow. It will be hard. But you need to realize you have more to offer than your love for Samuel. You are more than what your brother makes of you." 

Dean breathed, digesting everything that had happened in the last few minutes. He felt oddly disconnected as he slowly raised his head to meet Castiel's eyes. Where in a man he would have seen a heat of passion, Dean saw only understanding reflected back at him. It wasn't what he wanted. He needed something more tangible to hold onto, needed- wanted-

The second kiss was harder, driven, and this time it was Dean who initiated it. He shut himself off to his own conscience screaming at him to stop, took notice of Castiel's hands still gripping him tight and close, physical in a way Dean hadn't thought the angel capable of. 

Maybe this was a weakness or a sin, maybe he was dragging Castiel down into the mud with him. But he had no strength to resist the pull of need overwhelming him, he had no desire to stop searching for a measure of reassurance anywhere it was offered. 

Again, Castiel surprised him by gripping his arms and whirling him around until Dean was suddenly the one pressed against the wall. Crowded in by the other man's body, Dean was dizzy with need and hunger and a desperation that clung to his bones and urged him on. Dean's hands moved to touch Castiel, itching to reciprocate, but they were stopped, gripped tightly away from where they'd wanted to wander. 

When Castiel eyes met Dean's, neither of them said anything but Dean understood. He rested his hands against the wall behind him instead, not fighting when his own shirts were painstakingly removed, when warm hands moved to undo his belt and lower his pants to his thighs. 

Breathing hard, he let Castiel do the work, closing his eyes against the sensations rolling through him, willfully ignoring the tears he knew were slipping past this defenses. 

He was no more than half-hard when Castiel's- the host's, and _god_ he didn't even know what his name was, _sosorry, sorry_ \- closed around his cock, gripping him firmly if a tad awkwardly. But a few fumbles were all it took for Castiel to get the simple mechanic of pull and tug, until Dean felt himself hardening. He let out a half-cry when fingers found the underside and played with the nerves there almost teasingly, the touch more of a curious exploration than a deliberate attempt to make it good. 

It was too slow, too dry and too raw; but it was _right_ in a way such a blasphemy shouldn't ever be, it was _real_ in a way Dean clung to with everything he had.

Castiel found a rhythm in his touch, leaning closer until Dean could smell the sweat on his skin and feel him breathing against his neck, too even and unruffled despite what was going on. Dean wanted to touch, reciprocate, but he dug his fingers into the wallpaper instead, biting his lip against the onslaught of cries and pleas that wanted to break free, thrusting mindlessly into the hand offered to him, into the comfort provided. 

When Castiel leaned closer and kissed him again, Dean latched onto the contact wholeheartedly, mouth and tongue _showing_ those things he couldn't say. The kiss tasted of salt and blood and something sweet Dean refused to put a name to. It tasted like something he could hold onto and that was all he needed. 

He was already close when the kiss broke, precome starting to smooth the way for Castiel's hand. Dean mindlessly thrust harder into it, needing release, needing _something_ nameless and deep, just one uncomplicated thing to make sense of. 

But of course, this wasn't it. Nothing uncomplicated about being literally groped by an angel. An Angel jerking him off, saving him only to damn itself like this. But Dean couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, felt closer to Castiel in these few minutes, closer to something as unfathomable as the creature in front of him, than he'd felt to Sam since he'd been back. 

Castiel didn't move away and didn't kiss his mouth again, leaning in instead to press dry lips against Dean's jaw, his neck, his collarbone, like following a guideline into what should feel good. There was something almost impersonal in the soft press of lips against sweat-salted skin, but it felt nice and Dean was beyond overanalyzing anything. 

He whimpered in frustration when he couldn't find the edge he needed to let go. He was almost sobbing, but he didn't move to touch himself, biting his lip until it hurt while his hips sought friction with increasing desperation. Then Castiel moved in until there was barely any room between their bodies and Dean felt a hand gripping his hip, then moving down below his balls. Barely aware of it, Dean spread his legs, crying out wordlessly when a dry finger touched his entrance, pushing brusquely past the muscle in a blur of pain and shocking fullness.

The need inside him built to a sudden crescendo and Dean choked on a moan when he felt it wash over him, grateful beyond measure that Castiel kept stroking him through it, encouraging his orgasm as Castiel's mouth whispered a litany against Dean's throat in a language Dean couldn't understand. The whispers were calm, out of place in the aftermath of what had just happened, but they soothed the edges of Dean's desperation, continuing even when Dean started to become aware of where they were. 

The whispers carried on, like a prayer being whispered into Dean's skin, completely out of place. Neither of them moved for long minutes. 

Dean breathed hard, eyes closed, his body soaked with sweat and tears and his own come soaking Castiel's hand. Castiel didn't pull back either, finger still buried deep in Dean, hand still cupping him gently, uncomfortable but an oddly welcome invasion Dean didn't want to think about, didn't want to lose. 

Castiel's clothes were barely ruffled after all of it and Dean felt shame creeping up on him slowly, felt the need to move away and deny it all, but Castiel wasn't letting go and Dean's body wasn't struggling to get away. 

Then the finger was gone and Castiel was inches way from him, eyes inscrutable, staring into Dean's like searching for an answer in his gaze. Dean stared back blankly, not even knowing what to say after what had happened, not knowing how to understand it. One of Castiel's hands landed on the brand etched on Dean's skin, covering it, a warm tingle running through the skin at the touch. 

"This is not about your grasp on the situation." Castiel said suddenly, and Dean couldn't stop the snort that escaped him, could almost believe that had been a joke if it weren't for the seriousness in Castiel's gaze. "This is not about sex, carnality or power. You feel it, Dean. This was for you."

Dean wanted to say he didn't feel anything and demand an explanation. He wanted to deny all participation in what he'd just allowed- hell, pushed - to happen, but it'd be a useless exercise. The evidence was in front of him, from the dubious stains in Castiel's hand to the kiss swollen lips in front of his. He nodded instead, let himself breathe when Castiel stepped back and he could pull up his clothes, hands trembling ever so slightly as he bent to retrieve his T-shirt from where it lay at their feet. 

"There is no point in you blindly following Samuel's footsteps, Dean." Castiel said and Dean was too tired to fight him on it, felt stretched thin in places and badly patched up in others, like his body had taken a beating and hadn't been given time to recover. He sat on the bed and tried to breathe, looking down at his hands when he felt Castiel sit next to him. "Don't let his errors become yours."

"Yeah," Dean breathed, lips curling up in a wry grin without any real humor. "'Cause I'm awesome at standing aside and letting him do his own thing." 

"This time that's exactly what you shouldn't do." Castiel reminded Dean, sarcasm slipping right past him. "Stand in his way and show him where his choices stray. Show him where he's leaving you behind." At Dean's sharp glance, Castiel's face twisted into something a little sadder. "You are exhausted. Real rest shall do you good." 

Dean looked up with a bitter response ready on his lips, but Castiel was already reaching out, hand brushing his forehead gently and Dean's world swam immediately out of focus and into black.

\---

When he next awoke, it was Sam was sitting on his bed, staring at him. The blood wasn't in his clothes this time, but underneath his fingernails and there was no breakfast in the room, no smell of coffee. No excuses. Sam's eyes looked shattered and he was just sitting there, like he was waiting for Dean to fix it.

It was time then. All or nothing for the price of a brother Dean was willing to follow anywhere, the warnings of angels fading from his ears. 

There was one thing Dean would never willingly sacrifice and it was sitting right there, pale skin and hand stretched out, waiting for Dean to grasp it, either to keep him from falling or to pull him under.

Either way, it was Sam. Sam was here.


End file.
